Do you remember the date, twenty-one Feb,
sixty-seven,
when five of our mates were blown clear
up to heaven;
when the driver and commander of our rumbling
track
were killed by the blast from a mined booby
trap?
Do you remember the screams of mates who
lay dying
while all else was silence, like the shock
before crying;
and the medic was one of the dead on the
ground;
and no one dared move ‘coz more mines were
around?
Do you remember our weapons that were lost
in the blast
and all we could do was sit still on the
grass?
Our training demanded that our eyes keep
on searching
but we could do nothing in that hellish
damn clearing.
Do you remember the “Possum” and the bloke
who got out?
He walked up the track but was stopped
by a shout,
”Another bloody step and I’ll shoot you
me-self!”
And he said, “Shoot if you must but I got
wounded to help.”
Do you remember that bloke and the calmness
he showed
as he tended each digger as their blood
quietly flowed?
No equipment ‘cept that which he found
layin’ ‘round:
do you remember watching him without a
damn sound?
Do you remember his voice, as he demanded
your help
to get him a bandage or to apply first
aid yourself?
Do you remember forgetting the fact there
were mines
as he triggered your instincts to save
your mates’ lives?
Yes you remember… you remember it well
because how can you forget those times
shared in hell?
And you can remember because you’re alive.
Perhaps you’d be dead had that bloke not
arrived.
©Anthony W. Pahl
31st January 2001